


The Day The Thneed Died

by nebsys



Category: The Lorax (2012), The Lorax - Dr. Seuss
Genre: Other, intimate bromance, lots of timeskips, plot-relevant nsfw in one chapter but it isn't a sex scene dw, quasiplatonic Oncelorax, quasiplatonic kissing, running theme of familial abuse and found family, transgender headcanons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 12:40:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3068255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nebsys/pseuds/nebsys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thneed fails, and the Once-ler is left penniless and despondent - but not alone. Never alone.</p><p>AU fic about personal growth and how relationships grow strong in adversity.<br/>Contains quasiplatonic ("intimate bromance") Lorax/Once-ler over the course of several decades. Expect to see the other movie characters appear over time! Longfic in progress. M for themes of abuse, brief non-explicit sexuality, etc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

_The Day the Thneed Died_

....

“That's it! Y'know what? I'm- I'm done with this thing.”

The crowd before him gave a collective groan of disappointment. Half-rotted tomatoes hit the ground with varying degrees of splatter as the people of Greenville found themselves suddenly bereft of entertainment. The street vendor was the most disappointed of all of them - he had been making $3.98 apiece on those tomatoes!

Standing in the gazebo that marked the center of the town, the Once-ler dragged one sleeve of his thneed across his face, wiping away the tomato goo as best he could. He couldn't help noting offhand just how effective the knitted Truffula tufts were at soaking up the slime. It was bittersweet knowledge. Yanking the thneed from around his neck, the Once-ler stormed down the shallow steps.

“My family was right,” he grumbled under his breath. “I quit!” And with a flick of his wrist, he sent his creation flying across the town circle...

... as a sudden updraft lifted it ever-so-slightly above the nearby park benches, above the head of an unassuming gaggle of teenagers, and into the nearest trash bin.

And so, penniless and thneedless, the Once-ler started back towards the valley.

....

To the Lorax, every living thing in the valley was family. The trees were his siblings, the animals his children. Even the insects were like old friends; while they hatched and died each day, they changed so very little. They were his constants. For seventy-thousand years or more, the Lorax had watched his valley grow and change. The Truffula trees grew taller, the bar-ba-loots grew happier, the hummingfish refined their songs. The rivers changed their courses through the land, cutting new paths and leaving old riverbeds to grow grass. Mountains became hills became pebbles, and pebbles became rocks became hills, and so it went.

The Lorax heard the breaths of every living thing - from the grand swomee-swans to the tiniest bacteria. He heard their first breaths and their last breaths and everything in-between, like an endless chorus. The range of this sixth-sense-hearing spread all across the valley, through Greenville and a few miles beyond. It had become second nature over the years for the Lorax to focus in on this or that creature's breaths - he did it almost without thinking. So when the Once-ler began his stolid march back, the Lorax unconsciously knew he was coming before he really knew _who_ , exactly, was coming.

The forest's guardian had been playing cards for nearly an hour by the time his very-good-acquaintance trudged into the area. A few of the creatures from around the forest were gathered around a relatively flat stone. The Lorax didn't really mind the lack of cohesion in their play; as long as his wards were happy, what was there to complain about? (Aside from the number of cards the swomee-swan chick, Bill, had eaten...)

A splash of color - starkly inorganic and contrasting with the natural beauty that surrounded it - caught the Lorax's eye, and he turned just in time to miss the jack of diamonds go down Bill's gullet. He pushed down a smile at the sight of the Once-ler, but it pushed right back up when he noticed the lack of vivid pink.

“Hey, where's your thneed?” he called, sincere in spite of how easy it would've been to sound mocking. “Did ya sell it?”

The Once-ler freed Melvin from the sign he'd worn that day and they went their separate ways: one for the feed trough by the tent, the other for the ever-present orange furball. “Hey, yeah, no. Ah, no. Didn't sell it.” The Once-ler kneeled down. “Turns out it's... ahead of its time, I guess.” He forced one of his trademark smiles that didn't quite reach his eyes.

“Hey, you gave it your best shot, right? What more can ya do?” The Lorax patted the ground beside him. “C'mon, take a seat. We'll deal ya in.”

And the day passed with a semblance of normalcy, though every now and then something deeply brooding would cross the Once-ler's face, lingering just long enough that the Lorax was sure he'd seen _something_ , before it faded back to the over-exaggerated, begging-for-attention, _almost_ endearing cheer that was the Once-ler's default.


	2. The Night After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the foundation is laid.

_Five Hours After the Thneed Died_

All things considered, it had been a pretty okay day. After the Once-ler returned to what he may or may not have very tentatively called “home,” the evening had been taken up by card games, marshmallow-and-truffula-fruit pancakes, and a rousing game of hide and seek that had lasted well into the afternoon and practically turned the tent on its head. By the time the sun set, everyone was pleasantly full and exhausted. As the nightly batch of woodland creatures settled throughout his home, the Once-ler himself turned in early with nothing more than a mumbled “G'night” and a yawn.

The Lorax sat on the edge of the bed, looking out over the interior of the tent. A pretty okay day indeed. His wards were all snuggled up in whatever they could find - stray boots, laundry piles, ceramic dishes. Anything and everything was fair game. The Lorax himself just chuckled softly at the sight. Though he wouldn't admit it aloud, he was still a _bit_ wired from the sugar-stuffed pancakes. Sleep was the last thing on his mind. Still, it was nice to just watch the others doze, safe and warm. It was early spring in the valley, and while the nightly frosts were gone, there was still a chill in the air. The Lorax was glad to see most of the younger and older animals had piled in; they were the most vulnerable, after all, and it was always sad to find someone who hadn't made it through the cold of night.

Something stirred the Lorax from his musing. It wasn't a sound, exactly, so much as a sense. Like something's breath had hitched, or like the air was a little too wet, a little too thick, a little too tense. Then he felt it. The bed below him seemed to shiver slightly. Frowning, he sat as still as a drawn bowstring, waiting patiently for the disturbance to make itself clear.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the Lorax twisted around to look over his shoulder. There was the Once-ler, right where he'd settled down not too long ago, laying with his face to the wall and his back to the room. Another slight shiver noiselessly rattled the bed, and it was plain to see that he was epicenter of the tiny earthquake. Thick brow furrowed, the Lorax scooted over to sit on his knees behind his companion.

“Hey, Beanpole?” he whispered, uncertain if said beanpole was just dreaming, or...

No. No, he was awake. The Once-ler went tense as the whisper carried through the otherwise quiet air. With a growing and uncomfortable mix of concern and defiant aggravation, the Lorax grabbed him by the shoulder and rolled him onto his back, taking advantage of the Once-ler's surprise and what leverage he could find to accomplish the feat. The Once-ler tried to roll back over, but his fuzzy acquaintance took him firmly by the chin. For such a tiny creature, the Lorax had a pretty impressive grip.

He almost let go once he caught sight of the Once-ler's face. Unhappiness, he could handle. Rage, indigence, even brief bouts of depression. The Lorax took pride in his ability to help the creatures of his forest through tough times, despite his generally flimsy grasp on empathy for anything that wasn't a tree. He could even deal with the most grating of optimism in times of peace and disaster alike! But tears were a different story. Tears begged understanding, and comfort, and a deeper level of empathy than the Lorax could honestly say he possessed. Tears were hard. And tears were what stained the Once-ler's face, as well as a fair portion of his pillow and the sleeve of his pajama top where he'd undoubtedly been trying unsuccessfully to dry his face off.

They stayed that way for a while, eyes never quite meeting. The Once-ler's expression cycled through indigence and anger and shame and any number of other things before settling on something the Lorax couldn't quite place. Uncertainty? Annoyance? Whatever that particular emotion was, it struck him as _very_ tired and more than a little bit expectant. Waiting. Waiting for _what_ , though?

The Lorax gradually loosened his grip. Before he could get a word out, the Once-ler rolled back over and curled up tight, knees pulled to his chest and head buried in his quilt. “J-just go to sleep, alright?” The Once-ler's words were so muffled, his companion almost didn't catch them. He did, though, and his jaw set in response.

“What, an' leave ya like this for the rest of the night? Not a chance.” His reply came out heated, almost angry. “Is this about the... the whole thing with the thneed?”

After a moment's pause, the Once-ler sat up, turning an almost hurt glare on the Lorax. “Yeah, so what if it is? S-so what. It's not like _you_ know what it's like, so just... Just go to sleep.” He tried to lay back down, but the Lorax stopped him with one arm, and the Once-ler didn't really have it in him to fight.

“Don't know what _what's_ like? Look, Beanpole, ya can't win every time. Everyone's gotta face that fact sooner or later, an' you're not gonna make it any easier on yourself by throwin' a pity party, so snap out of it!”

The Lorax stumbled as one spindly arm shoved him away. The suddenness of the action almost knocked him off the edge of the bed. From the look on the Once-ler's face, he had the inkling that perhaps he had crossed some line, but his characteristic gruffness kept him from backing down right away.

“You don't get it!” It was dangerously close to a shout, and the Once-ler glanced around furtively before continuing, satisfied that he hadn't woken anyone. “Y-you think the thneed was just for fun, or something? Just a hobby? I mean, you clearly don't think there was anything riding on it, huh? Y-you don't know what it's _like_ ,” and his voice cracked, turning almost desperate. “You've got... y'know, all of this!” The Once-ler swept one arm about, gesturing vaguely to the animals in his tent, or maybe the valley itself. “You've never had to prove yourself or, or earn anyone's love, you don't have to work for that, these guys would follow you to the end of the earth! You don't know what it's like to be a failure. Y-you... Mom would've...”

His words seemed to fail him, and he swallowed thickly, turning damp blue eyes out the window. The Lorax watched silently, still not quite understanding except in that primal way a dog might know its master was sick, or a mama bar-ba-loot might know her cub was hurt. The Lorax had fallen into a more-or-less sitting position under the quiet weight of the Once-ler's tirade. He stood back up on the side of the bed and squinted slightly, searching for something in those eyes that kept firmly fixed on the darkness outside.

“Your mom would've... what?” The Lorax's gravelly voice sounded almost unnaturally quiet. Did it make sense to ask something like that? Maybe, maybe not, but it felt right in the moment.

The Once-ler turned back, eyes wide. “S-she would've...” He swallowed again, then shook his head. “No, n-nothing. It doesn't matter.”

And there he was again, trying to lay back down, and there was his unlikely companion, blocking him with one furry arm. There was a new understanding in those dim green-grey eyes, though. Something stronger than what had existed there yesterday. Something kinder, maybe.

“Look,” he started again, slower this time. “Beanpole. I dunno how things were done where you came from, but around here, being a failure an' being a success ain't opposites. Failure's when ya don't try, plain and simple. Success is what ya have left over after you tried an' it didn't work out.” The Lorax turned, one small hand still holding onto the Once-ler's arm, the other gesturing in a faint mimicry of what the Once-ler had done shortly before. “Look at this. This ain't just what _I've_ got. These guys've got plenty of love to go around. At the end of the day, no matter how many of your harebrained inventions don't pan out, you've still got _them_. That's what family's about.”

The taller of the two turned his gaze out over the tent. He couldn't see in the dark all that well, but there were countless unmistakable lumps spread all over. The Once-ler looked back down, still uncertain. “And... what about you?”

“M-me!? Wh- Well, I-” The Lorax blustered for a moment, cautiously retracting his hand and doing his best to look casual. “Well, y'know, I'm the guardian of this forest, so me an' the rest of 'em are like a package deal! That's just how it is. You're stuck with 'em whether ya like it or not, so that means you're stuck with me, too. Ya got that?”

The tough act was pretty transparent, even to the Once-ler, and he looked almost on the verge of laughing. The Lorax counted it as a win. He settled back down, thoroughly exhausted by the turn of events. The very next moment, though, he was scooped up in what was probably the biggest bear hug since that time Lou - the biggest bar-ba-loot - almost suffocated him. Startled, the Lorax hung there uncertainly for a moment before reaching around to hesitantly pat the Once-ler on the back.

“Thanks,” the Once-ler muttered, his words almost quiet enough that his companion didn't catch them. He did, though.

“Yeaaah, don't go all sappy on me, Beanpole,” the Lorax drawled. “It's way too late at night for this heart-ta-heart junk.”

With a strangely genuine chuckle, the Once-ler sat his acquaintance - his very good acquaintance - back down, and squirmed back under his quilt. “Ah, just admit it. You're a big softy.”

“Don't count on it,” the Lorax muttered through a yawn.

Before long, two more voices joined the chorus of snores that echoed through the valley.


End file.
